


Birthday Pie

by maidenofthesea



Category: True Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-15
Updated: 2014-07-15
Packaged: 2018-02-08 22:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1958607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenofthesea/pseuds/maidenofthesea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expanding the scene in episode 1 where Rust finally accepts Marty's offer to dinner. Rust's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Pie

**Author's Note:**

> None of this work belongs to me, I'm only playing in Nic Pizzolatto's sandbox.

Rust adjusted his tie with numb fingers. He had been sitting here for twenty minutes, ten minutes less than it had taken him to drive from the bar to Marty’s house. He had driven slowly, one eye shut to make the road seem straighter, the lights more yellow, green or red. He was breathing in and out deeply, first through his nostrils, then through his mouth, filling his lungs with the stale air inside his truck. It smelled like cigarettes and the cheap soap he bought and used from the Dollar General near his apartment. It was one of those off brand types, something like, “If you like Dove, then you’ll love….” He didn’t love it. 

He had worn the same tie to work and he couldn’t remember if there were different ties that were better suited for first time dinners at folk’s homes, but this one would have to do. Maybe there was such a thing as a difference in work attire and dinner attire but it didn’t much matter anymore. Detectives were always dressed like they knew they were going someplace important and wanted everybody else to know it too. Hell, he’d worn this whole damn suit to a funeral once. 

Rust sniffed and gulped in one last round of air before pushing open his truck door which was heavier than a sack of rocks against his suddenly limp muscles. He finished pushing it open with his foot and noticed his shoes were actually shiny. He had polished them before heading to the bar to talk to women who may know something he needed to know about Dora Lange. He had paid them for services rendered, though it wasn’t the kind of service they were accustomed to giving. 

Rust shook his head to clear his mind from thoughts of dyed blonde hair sticky with hair spray, cheap mascara, 5 inch heels and bottomless pitchers of long island iced teas. His hair was sweaty, ringlets sticking to the upper reaches of his neck. The top button on his shirt was undone. 

The sky looked purple to him as he made his way up to the front door, doing his best to walk in a straight line. “Left, right, left,” he muttered under his breath, like a little boy learning to march, playing solider. He watched his shadow from the porch lights hover and crawl across the ground, wavering back and forth from Marty’s driveway to his lawn that badly needed mowing. 

His right hand clutched the flowers he’d bought earlier; they had wilted on the dashboard under the glare of the sun and the bar lights. He brought them up to his nose and inhaled sharply hoping they still looked as good as they had at the grocery store. Marty had told him to buy a bottle of wine, but flowers were easier. He had been foolish enough to think if he avoided buying wine, he wouldn’t be tempted to drink. Besides, he didn’t know what Marty and his wife liked to drink.   
He knocked on the door, could feel the warmth from food being cooked welcoming him from the door. It smelled better than the flowers. He heard Marty’s daughters laughing, and he shut his eyes, leaning his hot forehead on the cool of the glass for just a second, letting himself pretend this was his front door and that laughter belonged to his daughter. He was just coming home from a hard day on the job and for a moment he could pretend this was his home. 

“Welcome home,” he slurred from one side of his mouth. 

Rust looked down and realized his tie was still crooked. 

Rust snatched his head and body backwards right before Marty opened the door. He could tell Marty’s face went from hopeful to fuck in about 2 seconds flat at the sight of him; uneven and swaying on his front porch like a newborn weeping willow. Then Marty’s girls were there and Rust looked at them, trying hard to make his face smile, get his eyes to focus. 

“Jesus,” Marty muttered before reaching for Rust’s tie and pulling him inside. Hart closed the door behind them with the free hand that wasn’t attached to keeping Rust up right. 

 

Rust bent down as if to remove his shoes but Marty forced him up straight.   
“No need.” 

He was already fucking up this whole meet-the-wife-and-kids thing. 

“Daddy! It’s your partner!” Macie screeched. 

Audrey stuck out her hand, showing off her good manners. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Cohle.” 

Rust bent down a little, finally free of Marty’s grasp and took her little hand in his.   
“Well, the pleasure’s all mine Miss.” He winked and stood up again slowly, letting Marty lead him into the house behind his daughters. The foyer was small and spinning. 

“Let’s get you some coffee and get you the fuck outside on the back porch so you can try and look human before Maggie sees you.” 

But it was too late. Maggie came around the corner, wearing an apron of course, holding a bowl of pasta that made Rust’ stomach turn. Her smile was bright, her hair perfectly brushed and sort of curly. Rust wondered if she actually dressed up to cook dinner. 

“You must be Rustin, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Can we take your coat?” She signaled Marty with her gaze, and he began slipping off Rust’s coat for him, Rust shrugging his shoulders to fill the silence and help slide the coat from his body. 

Once the final welcoming ritual was completed, Rust greeted her, cupping their grasp with his left hand. 

“I can’t thank you enough for having me over Maggie.” 

“Yeah, Rust is pleased as punch to be here, we’re just gonna take a little smoke break out back before dinner, shake off the day a bit.” 

Rust allowed himself to be led out to the back patio, past the wall of family photos…Maggie and Marty’s wedding day, their daughter’s Halloween costumes through the years, photos of first days of school and Easter dresses. Rust averted his eyes and focused on the sliding patio doors, then shifted his focus to Marty’s grill that badly needed cleaning. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you some coffee.” 

Marty went back in; leaving the door open and Rust wondered why he wasn’t worried about bugs flying in. He hoped Marty didn’t leave the damn doors and windows open all night. 

When he came back with the coffee, Rust sipped it at first, then swallowed it in mighty gulps the longer Marty talked about having Chris at the station page him to get Rust out of there before he could make too big a fool of himself. 

Sounds good, alright then, sounds like a plan, he recited his lines to Marty’s nervous ramblings. 

When Marty thought Rust was suitable enough to sit down at the table with his family they wandered back inside. Rust had sobered up enough to actually take in his surroundings with clarity. He wished he was still drunk. 

He sat down at the table, all laid out to perfection, he knew Maggie had brought out the best silver and plates they had, probably a gift from one of their many anniversaries. Rust touched the gold rim on the plates with his finger and noticed his nail was dirty. He bit off the tip to try to clean it before anyone noticed. 

Maggie passed around the plates of food, just like they do in the movies, Mother to Father, Father to daughter, and finally to Rust. He took his share and watched as Maggie re-filled his glass of water. 

“Thank you.” 

Rust felt himself ease back into his chair, the girls’ chatter went from a dull roar to actual words and sentences and he began listening closely, picking up on the pitter patter pattern of their speech. They finished one another’s sentences sometimes, but one was shy, one wasn’t, that much was obvious. One was the protector; the other daughter always peeking around the corners of a room to make sure everyone was happy. Kids always gave themselves away, Rust liked that, he admired their honesty, their lack of inhibitions. They hadn’t learned how to lie yet. They told lies, but they didn’t live them. 

Marty’s daughters talked about their day at school, the teachers and kids they liked and didn’t like, and argued about the bike they both wanted until Marty ended it with a threat of “Won’t nobody be getting nothing if y’all don’t hush and eat your dinner.” Scolding your children was something Rust had never really gotten the chance to do beyond the basics, yes and no, and a few “I told you so’s.” Marty seemed to dismiss his Fatherly privilege with an annoyed sigh. 

Rust drank water and coffee and filled his stomach more than he had in months, maybe years with real food. They were almost like a TV family, where every little squabble seemed to resolve itself in the course of thirty minutes and everyone loved one another at the end and made everything alright by singing kum-ba-ya around a camp fire or playing High, Low, where you talked about the best and worst parts of your day over cake and chocolate milk. 

Rust punished himself by ignoring their flaws, the obvious tension between Marty and Maggie, the boredom he could feel settling in around the house, the lull of routine that ate away at long term marriages until someone walked away or found something or someone more exciting. But most folks just stayed. It was easier that way. 

Rust’s motto instead was Leave Them Before They Get The Common Sense to Leave You. 

But tonight he stayed. He was comfortable after a bit, found himself chatting and saying things with a loose tongue despite Marty’s stares and cleared throat warnings. Fuck it. Marty’s girls reminded him of things he was good at pushing aside, but wasn’t one for living in denial so he jumped right in. Rust could pretend this was his daughter’s birthday party. Maybe Audrey and Macie would have made friends with her, and probably be jealous cos she already had the bike they wanted. Kids with no siblings always got spoiled. 

Rust lingered after dessert was served, pie, not cake so he had predicted slightly wrong. He watched as Marty and Maggie told the girls to go wash up and get ready for bed. It was so early; he forgot kids went to bed around this time. He sat at the table, making his pie crust and fruity filling last longer by drawing lines in it using his fork and slowly sipping his coffee. 

“Well I’d say it’s about time I hit the hay too. Long day tomorrow.” Marty made a big production of stretching and yawning so hard his jaw bone rattled. Maggie was standing next to him and he let his hand fall to the small of her back as he ended his massive stretch. 

“Yep, same goes for me.” Rust wiped his mouth and stood to go, his long legs taking some work to unwind from beneath the table. At least he could walk steady now, straight and narrow. 

“It was so good having you over. I hope you can do it again sometime.” 

Rust looked at Marty, then back to Maggie before she noticed.

“That’d be real nice.” 

“Yeah, if we can ever find the time. You know how it is…family life can be crazy.” 

Rust smirked. “It is if you want it to be. Some folks need to stay busy I guess.” 

Marty clicked his tongue behind his teeth and stood up. 

“Guess I’ll walk you out, Rust.” 

The two men walked to the door, Rust could hear Maggie clearing the table, playing her role as the good hostess and now came the un-fun part. The part the guest didn’t get to watch, loading the dishwasher and the sink, putting the best silver and chinaware again in some heirloom cabinet that belonged to some family member they had never met but still loved dearly so they made sure to keep their vintage pieces propped up against a wall in a room no one ever went into. 

Marty’s steps were heavier and slightly trailing his, right on his heels, eager for him to leave. 

“Good of you to come Rust.” 

“Good of you to ask.” 

“Well, Maggie made me. She’s been wanting to meet you for a while now. Glad you finally caved so now my job is done.” 

Rust waited while Marty opened the door, working around his arm to reach the doorknob. 

“See you tomorrow, Rust.” 

Rust nodded, turned to go, and walked out onto the porch. The cicadas were so loud they nearly made his ears ring. The humidity began melting his shirt to his thin waist and chest almost instantly. 

Marty closed the door but Rust stood there for a few moments, still tasting the pie on his tongue and the sides of his mouth. He closed his eyes and pretended the pie had candles on it. He let himself wonder if his daughter would have preferred pie over some grocery store birthday cake today. Then Rust opened his eyes and walked slowly to his truck, not bothering to buckle himself in and backing away from the curb, the purple sky filtering out its moon, eager for the night to end.


End file.
